Meenas PoemsTalking of others was her pastime
getting into details was her life time
elaborating with exaggeration in no time
she made up stories of all time.
She was lady of no 
rank.
Seeing her would tank
the heart of many to a blank,
Yet she carried on with a crank.
Advancing in age she went about the same
not bothered about her diminishing fame
You would say does she have a name?
I say it is her habit nothing to blame.
The babe was crying.
while the mother was sleeping.
Hearing the baby’s cry
the mother opened her eyes.
Rocked the cradle few times
to make the little one sleep in time.
The baby continued crying.
The mother unknowing
at the moment what to do
resorted to feeding in a go.
The lady of the next house
came in swift toes.
Looking at the baby close
she found a small ant in force
biting the baby under the nose.
Smiling she caught the ant red
and put the baby in the bed.
Chaotic is not the word to describe.
Pandemonium is the right word to ascribe.
The house always echoes the vibe.
It is far away from the petty jibe.
The lovely house denotes order and shine.
It is an epitome of all things fine.
Be it the cleanliness which is in nine.
As well as its decorum which is above the line.
It is transformed temporarily into a din.
All the trash is everywhere but not in the bin.
The lady of the house accepts everything with a grin
as she reclines low with her fingers in the chin.
She looked brave and fearless.
Her status was great and righteous.
She volunteered to handle the tactless.
She did with all the more diligence nevertheless.
Taking care of the deranged was troublesome.
She accomplished it with a grace wholesome.
She never complained about her duty cumbersome
Rather she had to toil for nothing awesome.
Willingness drove her to undertake the work.
Initially her lack of experience landed her in dark.
The inmates greeted her with a loud bark.
She got accustomed like a graceful lark.
As years rolled she became familiar with her job.
She was a genuine aid not a snob.
She created among the deranged a meaningful throb.
No wonder, she was hailed as the “lady of the mentally robbed”
She was brooding over the happenings.
She was recollecting the trappings.
Her memory took her long back.
Reminding her of the days in a track.
Once she was a golden girl.
She moved along with lovely frills.
She hummed in musical shrill.
Everyone danced to her drills.
She grew up to become a lovely lady fair
She commanded respect in all the flair.
Gliding through the tracks in a rare,
she evoked a shining glare.
The curtains are falling down.
Her demeanour has become a frown.
Her appearance has lost its glamour.
She withdraws herself into her chamber.
She has to come out of her past.
Eventually accept the present.
Go about with the tide in glory.
That is how we have to end the story.
I saw a lady in pink,
With lot of pleasant links,
Her hair tumbled down her back
It was soft and dark
Her eyebrows bent like arcs,
So well a natural dark,
Her eyes floated fish like,
Sparkling with a jumpy hike,
Her nose was sharp and pointed,
wherein twitched a diamond untainted,
Her lips appear thin and curved,
With a gleaming smile delicately engraved,
Her cheeks looked rose and rounded,
Looking like a dainty blossom well tended,
Her neck was neat and slender,
Exacting a conch like wonder,
Her skin was milky white none the less,
Giving out a complexion flawless
Her gait was full of poise and grace,
Making one adore her in a daze,
Is she real? Is she really real? I ask,
I look with askance ,
She is 
real ,
As she started to walk
Meenas Poems 